


what you ask me to do

by coloredink



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Italy, Multi, Season/Series 03, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloredink/pseuds/coloredink
Summary: She might well have ceased to exist, and that realization brought with it such a stark wave of relief that she was glad she'd gone through the trouble of going to Palermo.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier/Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 27
Kudos: 126
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	what you ask me to do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caissa/gifts).



She knew where to find him, of course. 

Hannibal was nothing if not predictable, once you knew the way his mind worked, and Bedelia had the benefit of years of experience. It gave her no special joy to know his mind so well, but there it was. (And what did that say about the law enforcement authorities that lost Hannibal so easily?) It was not unusual for Hannibal to vanish for a day or two, but he had taken with him the body of the young man, the poet. Bedelia waited until dawn for Hannibal to return, and when he did not, she set off for Palermo.

She went straight to the Cappella Palatina from the train station and was unsurprised to find it swarming with police. So, she took a stroll through the park, allowing herself to be enchanted by the running water and the birds; she took in the monument to those who had fallen in the fight against the Mafia, a surprisingly stark and austere stele in comparison to everything around it; paused at a cafe to purchased a cup of coffee and a pastry. She wiped the butter from her lips and returned to the cathedral. This time she could enter, her heels ringing against the ancient floor.

The room smelled old and faintly of blood and meat. What remained of Anthony Dimmond dripped onto the mosaic skeleton before the altar. Bedelia felt her upper lip curl. There was none of Hannibal's wit here, nor sly mockery. This was raw. He was becoming unhinged.

All the more reason to end this quickly. Bedelia settled herself into a chair and waited.

Will Graham did not emerge from the daylight, as she expected--now there was someone she hadn't yet learned to predict. She'd thought he would come striding in from the doorway behind her. Instead, he shuffled out of the depths of the catacombs, covered in dust and smelling like candlelight, looking downcast and disappointed. It took him a moment to spot her, but when he did, he sucked in a breath.

Bedelia stood, holding her purse in front of her. "You're looking for Hannibal." When Will didn't immediately reply, she went on, "I can take you to him."

"And what's in it for you?"

He wasn't wrong to be wary. "He wants you to find him," she said. "He's drawing the net around himself in the hopes that you'll be the one to haul it out. I'd rather not be there when it happens."

Will said nothing.

"It's your choice," said Bedelia.

Will shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I was headed for Lecter Dvaras."

"Lithuania?" said Bedelia. "That's quite the detour. I can take you to the man himself. Perhaps he might accompany you to the motherland, if you're still interested in the tour afterward."

"No," Will said, so quickly that Bedelia was certain it was true. "He can't go back there."

Bedelia picked up her hat from the seat. "Then it's up to you. You can see Hannibal, or you can see his past."

Will's lips thinned. "Fine," he said. "Then take me with you."

***

Will looked and moved remarkably well for someone who'd been gutted and left to die on a kitchen floor half a year ago. He was thinner, yes, and harder somehow, sharp-edged steel that had entered him with Hannibal's blade. But no; perhaps he'd possessed that since prison.

He had only the barest of necessities with him, in a bag slung over his shoulder; apparently he'd come here by _boat_ , of all things. Bedelia wondered if he planned to go home by boat. If he planned to go home at all. Hannibal, she knew, would approve of this dramatic flair. 

They settled into a first class train compartment, seated across from one another. Hannibal's money was good for many things, chief among them ensuring privacy and easy access to wine. Bedelia offered Will a glass; Will shook his head. He looked exhausted suddenly, deep lines carved into his face, casting shadows like a Caravaggio. He really was quite handsome, and the torture in his soul reflected so clearly on his face; she could see what Hannibal saw in him.

Will seemed perfectly content to sit in silence, and Bedelia was well acquainted with that from years of therapy practice. She gazed out the window at the Italian countryside rolling by. It was a long train ride. Bedelia decided to review Edith Wharton's _House of Mirth_ in her mind.

At last, Will said, gaze unfocused out the window, "It would have been me here, instead of you. Me and Abigail."

Bedelia took a sip of her wine. "Do you regret it?"

"No. Yes. I don't know." Will let out a hard breath through his nose. "In the end, I didn't have a choice."

"We always have choices. It's the consequences of those choices that we don't like, or what they reflect about us."

Will sat back in his seat. He still did not look at Bedelia. Good God, he did have a knack for looking like a Renaissance painting; the light always favored him. Hannibal was rubbing off on her. "There are no good choices, when it comes to Hannibal."

Bedelia lowered her glass of wine with a sinking feeling. "What are you planning?" She made sure to ask slowly and dispassionately, as she would to a patient.

"What needs to be done," Will said grimly. "What I should have done a long time ago, maybe." Now he made eye contact with her. Challenging. Bedelia resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. Will must have read something in her face anyway. "Do you disapprove? Then why lead me to him? Isn't this what you want?"

Bedelia raised an eyebrow. "Is it what _you_ want?"

Will took a long time to reply. "No," he said. "I don't know what I want."

"Do you think this is what Hannibal wants?"

"This is what Hannibal has always wanted." Now Will sounded more sure of himself. "For the sheepdog to savage the sheep."

"Hannibal is hardly the sheep."

"No," said Will, "but he is a monster."

"So you're to savage the monster?"

Will's chin dipped. "Violence is the only language he understands."

Bedelia allowed some wryness to creep into her voice. "There are means of influence other than violence."

A small line of confusion appeared between Will's eyebrows. "I've tried everything else."

Bedelia leaned forward. Will, to his credit, did not shy away, even when they were close enough to share breath. His eyes widened in surprise just before Bedelia kissed him, softly, on the lips. He didn't kiss her back. She pulled away and took one last sip of her wine while Will stared at her.

"Try it," she told him.

***

Eventually, Will's eyes began to slide shut. They would shutter, Will's head would tilt, and he would startle awake with an accusatory glance at Bedelia, as if to say _I'm on to you_. But he was only human after all, and half an hour of fighting his body found Will slumped to the side in his seat, snoring softly. It allowed Bedelia to relax and doze a little herself--though she prided herself on being the one to shake Will by the shoulder when the train at last ground to a halt in Florence. Will jerked awake with a flinch and bared teeth, and Bedelia took a step back. His expression rearranged itself to one of guilt-stricken misery, and Bedelia did him the favor of looking away.

The markets were already open. Bedelia tugged a small bag out of her purse and handed it to Will, who took it without even so much as a baffled look. He followed her as she purchased fresh eggs, parmesan reggiano, a variety of lettuces, a loaf of bread, and an absurd number of tiny, colorful cherry tomatoes and larger romas. 

"Do you cook?" she asked him as they headed back to the Fells' apartment; Will held the now-full bag in one hand and his own duffel in the other.

"I get by," Will said in a voice so low she almost couldn't hear him.

"I asked the wrong question," Bedelia said before the silence could solidify. "I apologize. I meant to ask, would you cook for Hannibal Lecter?"

She hadn't thought it possible for Will to gain an expression any more haunted than it already was, but she was wrong. "We've cooked together."

"Good." Bedelia stopped before the Fells' door and fished in her purse for the key. "Then you'll be adequate in the kitchen."

The foyer, as always, was cool and inviting. A little dark for Bedelia's tastes--the entire apartment was--but it wasn't her taste that mattered here. She placed her hat and coat on the coatrack, noting the continued absence of Hannibal's coat, and took the bag of groceries from Will. "You can put your things in the room down the hall, there," she said, gesturing with one hand. "Then meet me in the kitchen."

Will hesitated before doing as he'd been told. Good. Perhaps this day would be salvageable, after all. Bedelia hoisted the groceries up onto the kitchen island and began unpacking them.

"Are we really going to cook for Hannibal?"

She was not startled; living with Hannibal had been good for some things. "I didn't purchase all these ingredients for decor." Bedelia turned and gave Will an arch look, which was lost on him as he was gazing around at the kitchen. It was, granted, very different from the soulless, stainless steel cavern of Hannibal's Baltimore kitchen: this one was smaller, more rustic, with herbs and copper cookware hanging from a rack on the ceiling. Morning sunlight spilled in from the window behind the sink, where pots of fresh herbs were lined up on a tiny sill.

"Nice place you got here," Will said at last.

"Thank you." Bedelia rolled up her sleeves. "I didn't choose it. Will you get some basil from the pot by the window? Just a few leaves will do."

Will returned with half a dozen large, tender basil leaves in his hand. Bedelia had finished arranging the contents of their shopping bag on the counter into roughly the order in which they'd need to be dealt with. She pulled down a bulb of garlic from the string hanging overhead and dug her fingernails into the space at the top. It gave way with a satisfying crack, and she pried away half the cloves to set in front of Will. "Smash the garlic, and dice the larger tomatoes. The knives are behind me."

She could hear the sound of a knife being drawn from the block, and she told herself that the raised hairs on the back of her neck were purely reflexive. Will was no threat to her. Bedelia got down bowls for the mise as Will smashed the cloves of garlic with the blade of the knife, one by one, discarding their skins; he tossed them into one of the bowls and began to work on the tomatoes, scooping them into another bowl with tender confidence. He was, Bedelia noted, quite good at this. These were less obvious signs of Hannibal's influence than the scar across his belly and the way he no longer avoided her eyes or hunched his shoulders at the attention. She wondered if Will suffered every time he picked up a chef's knife.

"No meat," Will remarked.

"Nothing with a central nervous system," she replied.

Will swept another handful of tomatoes into the bowl. "Not since taking up residence with Hannibal."

"Would you?" Bedelia flashed Will an arched eyebrow.

He didn't answer. Bedelia began to efficiently leaf lettuce. The greens felt crisp and fresh between her fingers; lower down, near the base, grit came off on her fingertips. The radicchio, on the other hand, did not feel sandy at all. Ah well. She plugged the sink and began to run cold water into it.

"I'm done with the tomatoes," Will said.

"Thank you," Bedelia said, and left the sink. Will wordlessly took her place there. Bedelia got down a medium skillet from the rack and began to heat it on the stove. She heard the water shut off as Will began, presumably, to wash the lettuce. Bedelia poured a generous amount of olive oil into the pan and waited.

"Does anything else go in this salad?" Will asked her.

"Lemon juice and olive oil," said Bedelia. "But that won't be until later. Hand me the garlic."

Will passed her the garlic and a wooden spatula. Bedelia dumped in the garlic, which gave a bright little sizzle, and passed back the bowl. She took the spatula and stirred. A fragrant aroma rose into the air.

"What's the basil for?" Will asked.

"Beauty, mostly, although we might consider adding it to the salad. What do you think?"

"I've never had basil in a salad," said Will. He paused. "I think it would be good."

"Then tear it up and add it to the greens once you've dried them."

The garlic had begun to turn golden. Bedelia added a generous smatter of red pepper flakes and the bowl of tomatoes. The pan hissed. She stirred the tomatoes and watched as their color brightened and their shapes changed.

"What are we making?" Will asked.

"Eggs in purgatory," Bedelia replied.

Will didn't answer right away. Bedelia looked up. It took her a moment to recognize the twitching at the corners of Will's mouth as a burgeoning smile.

"You and Hannibal have exactly the same sense of humor," Will said. "It's terrible."

***

"What if Hannibal doesn't come back?" Will asked.

"He will," Bedelia replied, setting the lid on the pan. "Would you toss the salad?"

Will obeyed, as he had in everything else that morning, dressing the salad with lemon juice and a drizzle of olive oil. And as if this were a fairy tale--and around Hannibal, perhaps, everything was a fairy tale--the lock sounded in the door. Beside her, Will tensed. The door opened, shut, and footsteps sounded in the foyer.

"Something smells good," Hannibal said as he came through the doorway into the kitchen and froze.

It would have been comical, had Bedelia been in any mood to enjoy it. Hannibal's jaw was slightly open, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he blinked at Will. Will had turned to face the doorway, his back and shoulders so straight and taut that Bedelia's own muscles strained in sympathy. Not that anyone was taking notice of her; she might well have ceased to exist, and that realization brought with it such a stark wave of relief that she was glad she'd gone through the trouble of going to Palermo.

"The eggs will be ready in a few minutes," she said. "Perhaps you'd care to help set the table?"

Hannibal's eyes darted to Bedelia, back to Will, and then back to Bedelia. "Of course," he said, with a trace of his usual dignity. He very deliberately didn't look at Will then, as he strode past them to the drawer where the silverware was kept. He took down the salad plates and the cloth napkins. "I take it Will is joining us for breakfast?"

"Of course. There's toast in the oven; don't forget to take that out as well."

Strange, perhaps, that they worked together so well. Hannibal set the table; Will took out the toast and the salad, and then came back in to help Bedelia with plating the eggs. Two beautifully poached eggs went into each bowl, drizzled with olive oil and a few flecks of fresh basil. Bedelia carried them out herself, one in each hand and the third in the crook of her elbow, to find that Hannibal and Will had seated themselves across from each other, placing Bedelia at the head of the table. They were staring at each other. Bedelia resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she placed the bowls.

"Bon appetit," she said, taking her own seat and shaking out her napkin.

"Thank you," Hannibal said, as he did the same. "This looks wonderful."

"When was the last time someone cooked for you?" Will asked. He hardly took his eyes off Hannibal as he took a piece of toast from the basket and jabbed it into his eggs.

"Awhile ago now." Hannibal did not seem affronted by the question. He was using a knife and fork to cut his toast into pieces on his plate. "Bedelia prefers not to cook."

"You prefer that I not cook," Bedelia corrected him.

"As so." Hannibal flashed her a benign, close-lipped smile. Bedelia returned it.

"Will helped a great deal," Bedelia said.

Will bared his teeth. "I sliced the tomatoes."

"He was always a very good sous chef." At that, Hannibal turned a gaze on Will that was so adoring that Bedelia's stomach turned. She wondered if they would notice if she left the table right then.

But she did not leave the table, and the conversation carried on as if they were all old friends, now unexpectedly rejoined. Hannibal asked after the dogs (they were fine); Will asked if Hannibal had thrown any dinner parties recently (not as much as Hannibal would like). Bedelia ate lightly; in truth, she wasn't very hungry, despite her long night and subsequent longer morning. But it would have been a shame to waste the eggs, so she ate those, a few forkfuls of salad, and a bite of toast. She noticed that Will's plate looked similar to hers, but that Hannibal ate well.

The hammer fell in the kitchen afterward, where Hannibal loaded the dishwasher and Bedelia wiped out the pan in the sink. Will, standing between Hannibal and Bedelia, was holding a dishcloth, perhaps for something to do with his hands more than anything else.

Hannibal placed the last fork and shut the dishwasher. "What is it that you came for, Will?" He leaned against the counter and looked Will straight in the eye. Bedelia shut off the running water, and the sudden silence rang loud in the kitchen. The light had moved, so that it slanted in the window through a different angle, leaving more shadows in the kitchen. There were many, many knives here. Bedelia contemplated the door to the walk-in pantry.

Will did not shy from the sudden eye contact. "To forgive you."

Hannibal cocked his head like a curious fox. "What is it that you hope to gain from forgiving me?"

"Peace."

"Do you truly want nothing from me?"

"Forgiveness is for the sake of the victim," said Will. "Not the perpetrator."

Something darkened Hannibal's gaze. "You see me as the perpetrator, then."

Bedelia was a little amazed that Will didn't laugh. "You're the one who gutted me."

"You gutted me as well."

"Yes, but only one of us literally had his guts hanging out of his body."

Hannibal took a deep breath. "All right," he said. "I'm ready."

Bedelia held her breath. Will stepped forward, but he had no weapon in his hand; instead, he seized Hannibal's face in both of his hands and pressed their lips together. Bedelia let out her breath and toed off her shoes. She could be quick and quiet and out past them to the door, and from there it was--

Will's hand shot backward to seize Bedelia's wrist. The towel had somehow made its way to the floor. She wanted to scream: _really?_ Will had broken off the kiss and was looking over his shoulder at her. "This is your doing," he said. "You may as well see it through to the end."

She looked over Will's shoulder to Hannibal, but Hannibal would not look at her.

***

In the end, Bedelia did not struggle or protest as they made their way up the stairs. She was curious, much as she hated to admit it. Will had not been attractive to her in a previous life as a sweaty, twitchy little man; but now he stood up straight, wore clothes not covered in dog hair, and smelled of some rich, understated cologne that she had no doubt was Hannibal's doing. And Hannibal, well--she always knew what she was getting into with Hannibal, as much as anyone could.

She'd left her shoes in the kitchen. When she stopped by the bed to undo her blouse, Will gently batted her hands aside to take over the task for her. Bedelia huffed a sigh and undid Will's buttons. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hannibal take a seat on the bed, but she could not quite make out his expression without turning her head. She kept her eyes on Will's buttons, resolute, and then on Will's belt, and on his fly, until Will was naked.

Only then did Hannibal move. He reached out his hands, one after another, to place them on Will's hips and turn them. Then, with the least amount of delicacy Bedelia had ever seen in him, Hannibal buried his nose in Will's pubes to snuffle around like a truffle hound. Hannibal was still fully clothed, save for his shoes. Bedelia finished undressing herself and climbed onto the bed beside Hannibal.

It was pleasant to watch: the dim amber light on Will's skin, and Hannibal worshipping all that skin like a desperate supplicant. They were both beautiful people, and she had never seen this kind of hungry rawness in Hannibal before. She wondered if this was what he'd looked like as a child--but it was possible Hannibal had never been a child, not really. She'd asked him, once, what had happened to him in his dark past, to make him what he was like today. _Nothing_ , he'd replied. _I happened_.

Will eventually pressed both hands to Hannibal's shoulders, and Hannibal started and looked up. "I want to watch you," Will said, with a glance over at Bedelia. He gave her a different look than the one he gave Hannibal, one that was both more intense and more distant.

Bedelia stretched back on the bed. "Will you be participating? Or observing?"

Will didn't answer. He got onto the bed and there, on his knees, unbuttoned Hannibal's shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. Bedelia lay back and began to stroke between her legs with two fingers. She felt herself begin to loosen as Hannibal's pants came off, revealing him already most of the way to hard. Hannibal looked at her with tousled hair, his lips parted to reveal the wet interior of his mouth. Bedelia's heart sped up despite herself.

"Use your mouth on her," Will said, and Hannibal said nothing, just settled in between her legs and set straight to work. Bedelia tossed her head back and closed her eyes. Hannibal applied himself to this with the same delicacy and precision as he did to everything else, and she always enjoyed it.

After a minute or two: "Wouldn't you use your fingers, too? Use your fingers." Bedelia forced her eyes open and looked down, more out of curiosity than anything else. Will was crouched next to Hannibal, one hand on the back of Hannibal's neck, watching the proceedings with all the dispassion of a movie director. Bedelia sank back and closed her eyes as a finger made its way inside her, stroking with just the right amount of pressure. She gasped. Hannibal really was too good at this, and it almost took the fun out of it: she could have come while thinking about math, with no chance to linger on the plateau.

But that didn't lessen the pleasure, when Will whispered "Make her come" and Hannibal did. It took her a little by surprise, actually, and she didn't know how long it took her to come back down, still gasping for breath. Hannibal had drawn back, and Bedelia had to remember how to open her eyes and look. Will and Hannibal were kissing. It gave Bedelia a little jolt in her stomach, to think that Hannibal probably tasted like her.

Will was, of course, the one to break the kiss. "I want you to fuck her," he said, with a glance at Bedelia. She had propped herself up on a pillow, reclining back on her elbows. "You've been fucking, haven't you?"

"What does it matter to you?" Bedelia asked.

Once again, Will didn't answer. Hannibal didn't answer, either. He just positioned himself over Bedelia, his hair falling into his eyes. He looked at her, but she could tell he wasn't really looking at her, even less so than the other times they'd had sex. She spread her legs for him, and Hannibal slid in on one smooth stroke.

It wasn't unheard of for Bedelia to come twice in one night, or even three or four, but subsequent orgasms took longer and required exponentially more effort. Hannibal could do it--he had done it before--but Bedelia wasn't certain she really wanted to try. But it felt good enough, especially when Will's hand snaked between their bodies. He used his thumb to swipe some more wetness onto her clit and began to rub, and from then on it became a lot more difficult for Bedelia to control herself. She squirmed and panted, open-mouthed, so that Hannibal lost his rhythm more than once. Orgasm came rushing up once again, and Bedelia wasn't sure that she didn't accidentally kick someone this time.

Hannibal pulled out, his shaft dark and glistening. Will stretched out alongside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth. He was holding onto the base of his cock with one hand, and Hannibal bent down and took it in his mouth. Bedelia watched, feeling a little like an anthropologist. Will was breathing practically in her ear, and there was something sexy about that, even though there was absolutely nothing left in her to get aroused. So she just listened as Will's breath began to come quicker, and then choked off in the back of his throat as he came. She watched Hannibal's throat move as he swallowed and the way his eyelids fluttered shut, his eyelashes casting sharp shadows on his cheeks.

Bedelia wiggled her way closer, close enough that she could put her head on Will's shoulder just a little. "Are you going to let him come at any point?" she murmured to him as Hannibal pulled away and wiped his mouth. His lips were red and full, and his eyes glittered with dangerous energy.

"He can make himself come, if he wants to," Will said, looking at Hannibal.

Hannibal sat back on his heels and began to pull at himself. Bedelia had never seen this before--how Hannibal pleasured himself--and she wondered if this was how he usually did it. It seemed so...perfunctory, these even, regular strokes. He didn't even play with his balls. But maybe Hannibal was tired too, strange an idea as that was. It was so comfortable, just to lie here next to Will, with the smell of sex all around them, and watch as Hannibal's head tilted back and his eyes began to close.

"Catch it in your hand," Will said. "Don't make a mess."

Hannibal came with a grunt. He did catch it in his hand, and--to absolutely no one's surprise--he ate it, making eye contact with Will all the while. He crawled up the bed afterward to curl up against Will's other side, as if he belonged there.

It had been a long few days. Bedelia closed her eyes.

***

She woke to sunset colors in the window. Will, next to her, was still asleep, snoring softly. Hannibal, on Will's other side, had relaxed in slumber as well, his breathing deep and even. Bedelia slipped out of bed and began to pick her discarded clothes up off the floor. She paused once, thinking that she had seen Hannibal's eyes open. But when she looked again, they were closed, and his breathing remained unchanged. Bedelia padded out of the room and redressed herself in the bathroom.

Leaving, after that, was the work of a moment. She had a bag packed in the very back of the hall closet, with two days' worth of clothes, her passport, and five thousand dollars in cash. She retrieved her shoes from the kitchen and stepped out into the street. Five blocks away, she hailed a cab.

\--END--


End file.
